The Guard Commander's eyes washed across them . . . across Keilin's face, and on without pause. Keilin started to breathe again, as the man passed by. He felt the tension run out of him.
"Yeth? And what do we have here?" The lisping voice was cruel. There was no fear in the voice now—just power. Silence fell. "Commander." Kemp turned, the forty armed men of the bodyguard halting too, readying weapons. Keilin looked for a place to run, and saw no breaks. "That girl. I want her."
His beringed plump white finger with its exquisitely manicured nail poked at Leyla.
The silence was torn by the sound of Beywulf's terrible jagged-edged sword being drawn. His lips drew back exposing his own yellow snaggle teeth. "Leave her alone."
Cap looked over the heads of the crowd, who were doing their best to melt away in a hurry without being obtrusive. "Bey. Let me handle this."
"Withe. Tell your thervantth that rethithtanth meanth death. Put that ugly thword away and I'll forget it." The Patrician was plainly not that cowed by Beywulf's threat.
"Hold, Beywulf. Don't sheath . . . yet. Patrician Vedas," Cap said in a clear carrying voice, the voice of a power, speaking as if to one of his councillors, with whom he was a little out of charity, "we're not your citizens. We are simply on our way through your charming city. I don't think you want to delay us. By this patch you know that I speak for the Crew. Remember, you are mine to command. I don't need to tell you about what happens to those who obstruct the Crew's ends."
The Patrician smiled. Those white teeth were filed. Keilin would swear to it. He wished he'd spent more time telling them about his city and what to avoid. But they had planned a quick walk to the camel yards and then to be away. And he really hadn't wanted to talk about it. "Commander, thee that theth people accompany me back to the palathe. Thereth thomeone I want them to meet."
Leyla laughed. It cut through all tension. "I don't see what all the fuss is about. After all I've just received a very flattering bit of attention." She looked under lowered lashes at the plump, white-robed man. "I'm dying to see your palace."
The Patrician gave a high-pitched giggle. "Dying . . . yeth! I mutht thow you my pleathure roomth . . . in the thellars. I'm thure you'll jutht be devoured with pleathure. Come along then." He giggled again.
Keilin desperately wished he'd told her just what the Patrician's particular perversion was rumored to be.
They found themselves marched away from the direction of the camel yards, away toward the many-turreted white marble palace. Keilin wondered what had replaced the treasury. He was afraid he might find out. "There. You don't have to solve everything with a sword blade, Sergeant-Major. A little harmless entertainment on Leyla's part, something she's hardly unfamiliar with, and a bit of `big brother is watching you' from me and we'll be on our way without any trouble, and very possibly with some help."
"Sir," whispered Keilin urgently, "I must . . ."
"You must learn to keep your long nose out of what doesn't concern you, boy. Now, shut up."
So Keilin retreated, to find himself buttonholed by Shael. Her childhood training stood her in good stead. "What's frightening you so badly? Does Cap really trust the plump little snake of a local ruler?"
"Yes. He thinks everyone will still be overawed by his Cru badge. He doesn't understand that it only works with ordinary people nowadays. I don't think Patrician Vedas is superstitious, and anyway he obviously believes that he's above any law, now. He used to have women stolen for him by night . . . now he comes and demands them in the street."
Beywulf had dropped back to walk just in front of Keilin. In an undervoice he said, "Keil . . . what were you trying to tell the man?"
"He kills them, Bey. Nobody knows what happens to the girls that go into his cellars." He didn't add that rumor, and the frequency at which girls disappeared, suggested it wasn't a quick death.
Shael took a long sharp look at him. She could see his fear. She realized that she had often seen him afraid, but always facing that fear. This was the first time she'd seen him ready to break and run. His face was sweat-beaded and almost gray with terror. With shock she realized she could actually feel his fear. The core section in his ankle pouch must be freezing. Any minute now they'd have the Morkth on top of them. He had met other terrible foes along their travels, but this . . . the fear was inculcated in early youth, and distance and experience had done nothing to lessen it. Well, she'd been warned. She'd better prepare for it. "Lend me your small knife for a minute, please, Cay. I need to trim my nails, and put my moisturizing cream on," she said calmly.